


Waiting

by kiyala



Category: Marvel, Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: Angst, Community: angst_bingo, M/M, Pining In Cafes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:30:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Agent Barton doesn’t show up at their rendezvous point when they’re separated, Coulson thinks nothing of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shipwreck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipwreck/gifts).



> for the angst_bingo square "worst case scenario"

When Agent Barton doesn’t show up at their rendezvous point when they’re separated, Coulson thinks nothing of it. There were guns being fired everywhere, glass shattering all around them and, to put it mildly, all hell was breaking loose. 

It makes sense that Barton should want to lay low just a while longer, to make sure the coast is completely clear before resurfacing. Coulson takes a seat in the café anyway, ordering a vanilla latte with double shots, and reads his paper for an hour.

They have a rotation of cafés set up as their meeting points, all of them staggered so that nobody ever begins to recognise them. When Coulson goes to the next café on the second day, there’s still no sign of Barton. 

It still doesn’t concern him. These things happen sometimes. Besides, Barton tends to operate within his own set of rules. It’s a good day when Barton’s rules overlap with the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s—for everyone involved. 

Agent Phil Coulson doesn’t begin to feel concerned until it’s been a week and three days; the standard S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol for cutting your losses and returning to base. The rules dictate that he needs to go back, report to Fury, fill out his usual field report, and another incident report, just in case Barton’s been killed in action. 

Coulson sits in his tenth café, not processing anything in the paper in front of him, and stays there until it’s closing time. 

When he returns to his nondescript motel room, Coulson looks at his already-packed back. He reaches into his pocket, to his S.H.I.E.LD.-issue phone, which he should be using right now to contact the nearest office to let them know he’s coming back.

Coulson stays. 

Day eleven is difficult. He’s not even sure why, but it feels like there’s a weight on his shoulders, dragging him down, the entire day. When he goes to café number eleven, sitting in the outside seating area that was once a rooftop garden, Coulson orders his usual vanilla latte. Without a second thought, he also orders an espresso. 

He stares at the glass when it arrives, the waitress giving him a small smile as she places it on the other side of the table. He reaches for his paper, just to be pretending to do something as he sorts this out in his mind, but he’s forgotten it today. There’s nothing to do but drink his coffee, his eyes never leaving the empty chair opposite him or the glass, filled to the brim. 

Somehow, it becomes a habit. It’s always an espresso, sitting and waiting, its steam making abstract shapes in the air as Coulson drinks his coffee alone. Fury calls, when he’s sitting in café fifteen, and Coulson manages to talk him down. He hangs up, sliding the phone back into his pocket, and takes another long sip of his latte.

He leaves the espresso behind, just as he always does. Just in case, perhaps. He’s not even sure any more. 

With each passing day, he imagines what could possibly have happened. It starts off small, but it doesn’t take long to escalate. Perhaps he’s injured, perhaps he’s sick, perhaps it’s both. Perhaps he’s dead. Perhaps he’s being tortured, torn apart limb from limb because he’s always been too damn stubborn to cooperate . . .

At café number twenty, now in a completely different town, Coulson swaps the espresso and latte. He lets his drink sit there and go cold, while he drinks Barton’s coffee instead. 

He hates it. It’s too hot, too bitter, and it makes him feel sick to his stomach. 

But at least he can blame that on the coffee. 

Then, on day twenty-one, he walks into the café to a familiar set of hunched shoulders. He doesn’t even know what gives him away, but Barton turns around all the same. His sunglasses are on, but there’s a small quirk to his lips. 

Coulson sits down heavily. Barton pushes the latte towards him, taking his glasses off. There’s an apologetic look in his eyes, and enough make up to cover a lot of serious bruising. Barton’s eyes are still a little red, and his hands shake as he stirs his espresso.

“Hope I got your order right.”

Coulson takes a sip. It’s just right, down to every last detail. Under the table, Barton touches the toe of his boot to the toe of Coulson’s shoe. 

“It’s perfect, Barton. Thank you.”


End file.
